I slept on the
Cold concrete last
Night.

I awoke to the
Scent of exhaust
Fumes

And the sound of an
Engine revving.

I watched with bitter
Eyes as the BMW drove
Away.

What would it be
Like to be him?

To not have to rummage
Through trash to find
Food,

To sleep on a warm, soft
Mattress once again.

To not cringe as your
Stomach begins to
Scream at you in
Hunger.

I would travel to
Far away places,

I would live all my
Dreams.

But, I am not that
Man.

I am an outcast from
Society,

Swept under the rug like
Any other eyesore.

I slowly rise from the
Concrete and reach
For my bottle.

I take a swig, and it
Burns all the way down.

My mind begins to cloud
Over as the alcohol hits.

This kind of life is easier 
To take in a daze.

I wonder if the
Man in the BMW drinks,
If he ever feels the need

To go so far into yourself
You can't find your way back
Out.

I unsteadily walk out
Of the parking garage,
And blink my eyes as
The mid-afternoon sun
Hits them.

In front of me I see
Skyscrapers reaching for
Heaven.

Cars rush past in a blare
Of noise.

I walk with my head low,
Shuffling slowly down the
Street.

They try not to
Stare at me,
But cannot.

I'm like a walking
Traffic accident --
You can't help but crane
Your head around to
Stare.

I see no sympathy in
Those eyes,
Only contempt.

As they pass over me,
I feel those eyes say,
"What are you doing here?
Get out of my perfect world!"

But the world is not perfect,

It only seems to be as you drive
To work in your BMW with your wallet
And stomach full, and your mind
Dreaming of this year's vacation.

For me, the world is far
From perfect as I rummage 
Through garbage cans for food,
And sip from my paper bag.

I wake every morning hoping this
Day will be my last.

When I die, I will be in Heaven.
And the BMW will be in Hell's
Parking lot.

But until then, I continue
Walking.

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